


Dancing With Tears In My Eyes

by alijah



Series: The Flying Trout and her pet Viper [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Multi, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alijah/pseuds/alijah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Starks decide to marry Sansa to Quentyn Martell, to mend the relationship between the Kingdoms.<br/>Lysa Tully Arryn stops by Riverrun on her way to her nieces wedding and encounters the Dornish contingent.<br/>Petyr Baelish see's his in to the Vale slipping away and takes drastic action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing With Tears In My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this comment from the comments of the Lady and the Scholar by the wonderful Silberias.  
> What if Oberyn and his family went North with Quentyn (who is off to marry Sansa or something) and everyone met up in Riverrun including Lysa--and Lysa just kind of, you know, saw something she liked. And then Petyr challenges Oberyn to a duel over her affection because he sees his 'in' to the Vale slipping away and Oberyn just does away with him with a single set of blows--and Lysa is standoffish and sad for a while but then she ends up (like a year later) inviting Oberyn & Co to the Vale and they get married. Yes. Tully redheads married to MarrrrrrWHATWHAT WHAT.

Prince Quentyn Martell’s betrothal to Lady Sansa had come as a surprise to the people of Winterfell, not in the least because it came after rumours of a betrothal between Lady Sansa and the Crown Prince had circulated. The Dornishmen was a Prince true, but a second born Prince, not destined to inherit anything, a good match but not the best one on offer if the rumours had been true. Nevertheless red and orange died linen was being ordered from White Harbour and ravens had been sent. Lady Sansa was to become Princess Sansa Martell by the end of the year, to the apparent displeasure of the crown.

* * *

 

Arianne sat in the water gardens waiting for her Quentyn to join her. She was a ball of emotions, nerves, anger and worry all floating around inside of her. A marriage to Sansa Stark of Winterfell was a good match for a second son of Dorne, even if the second son in question was a Prince, but it displeased her. It was not that she did not want her brother to have a good marriage, but the Starks were powerful, far away as they were and if they got it in to their heads that Quentyn being the oldest son of the current Ruling Prince should inherit Dorne, she would have a fight on her hands to keep her birthright. She could only pray that should she be so unlucky as to have that occur it would be after the death of her father, so that he could not live up to his promise in that awful letter. _One day you will sit where I am sitting and all of Dorne will be yours._

She shook that thought from her mind though, and hoped her paranoia would end up being pointless. Quentyn walked through an archway and appeared before her. She took that moment to really look at her brother, so different from when he had been sent to Yronwood to foster. He was older now, not handsome though he was not ugly, lacking the fire of her Uncle Oberyn, he reminded her of nothing as much as her father.

“Sister, it is good to see you” Quentyn declared, leaning down to kiss her cheek and nearly falling on top of her. She smiled in return, rising to return his kiss.

“Quentyn, come sit down” Arianne replied, pouring a cup of lemon water for her brother. “The news of your betrothal is exciting” she commented.

“Yes, quite. It was unexpected news for me. I had no idea father was even looking for a potential bride until I received the letter informing me that I am to marry the Stark girl” Quentyn looked pensive as he answered, and Arianne was suddenly struck with a rush of pity. Her younger brother would have to marry a stranger, and a Stark stranger at that. There was no telling if she would be beautiful or plain, the betrothal moving too quickly for them to exchange portraits.

“It may have been a surprise but I am sure father had your best interests at heart” _the same way I am sure he has never had mine._ “I am sure she has been raised to be an accomplished Lady, she will make a good wife. Even better, I have heard her family turned down the Crown Prince for this betrothal. They know your worth, brother” Arianne said in an attempt to comfort Quentyn.

“They know the worth of my name. I cannot give her a castle, nor a Kingdom. I am not destined to inherit anything, nor am I a handsome knight from the songs.” Quentyn replied morosely.

“You may not have a castle for your children to inherit, but you are still a Prince of Dorne. That makes you an ideal match for any girl. Do not underestimate your worth” Arianne snapped. She did not like to see her brother low, doubting himself. Whatever their fathers plans, Quentyn was her brother.

“What do you know of this Lady you are to marry anyway?” Arianne asked in an attempt to move the conversation away from Quentyn’s insecurities.

“Very little, I know she is three and ten, and that she has red hair.” Quentyn responded, sipping his drink.

“So you know no more than I. Well then, let us theorize. She is a Stark so she will probably be tall” Arianne postulated. Quentyn smiled slightly at her comment.

“Probably, she is in the bloom of youth, so I would guess she is pretty. I would hope she is kind, and funny. Do you think she follows the seven?” Quentyn suddenly added, his tone becoming frenetic. He did raise a good point though, would this future Princess of Dorne follow the old gods or the new?

“I do not know, if I had to guess I would say she might follow both. For her mother was raised in the Riverland’s and in the light of the Seven and her father with the Old gods” Arianne theorised.

“Probably, I do not know anything about the Old Gods though. Should I have a Godswood planted do you think? In Sunspear, as a wedding present. I should go to the library” Quentyn jumped up before Arianne had a chance to answer.

“That would be a lovely gift, I would think” Arianne called to her brother’s retreating form with a smile on her face. _He will make a good husband,_ she thought, _I hope the Stark girl realises how lucky she is._

* * *

 

Sansa and Arya sat in the courtyard of Winterfell, lounging in the midday sun. They had just finished their lessons with Septa Mordane. The lessons had begun to make Sansa melancholy, which was unusual given how much she normally loved them, loved learning how to be a Lady. She supposed it was because it would not be long until she put all of her learning into practice. Sansa knew that she was not the only person who was feeling the weight of the knowledge of her impending marriage. Arya had been unnaturally quiet lately, and they had spent more time together recently then she could ever remember them doing in the past.

“Are you scared” asked Arya suddenly, breaking the peaceful silence.

“Scared of what?” Sansa replied, pretending to misunderstand the question, though she knew full well what her sister meant.

“Scared of getting married to a Dornish Prince, stupid” Arya grumbled. Sansa bit her tongue to stop herself snapping back, it would do no good to fight with her sister, especially when her pretend obtuseness was the cause.

“Not scared as such. I suppose you could say I am apprehensive. I never thought I would marry so far south, and Dorne has such a different culture to the North. I do not want to disappoint Prince Quentyn.” Sansa explained, haltingly. She had been distraught when she found out that her parents had turned down the Crown Prince in favour of the second son of the Prince of Dorne. Sansa had managed to come to terms with it though, and Dorne was the most southern part of Westeros so she had gotten her wish to be a Southron Princess, even if it was not in the way she had originally anticipated.

“You won’t disappoint your prince, Sansa. Don’t be stupid. You can sew and sing and dance and play the harp, and Septa Mordane has taught you all the houses of Dorne. You are a Stark of Winterfell, you’ll be fine” Arya said gruffly.

“Thank you for your confidence in me. It’s not just me that needs this marriage to work, at least in the short-term. Jeyne’s going to be coming south with me as a ladies companion, and her future marriage relies on my marriage’s success. Yours too, you know” Sansa added. She knew her sister preferred not to think about that, and it was the one situation where Father’s indulgence of Arya did not inspire jealousy in Sansa. He had allowed her to run free and wild, even encouraged it, but that would do more harm than good when Arya was to marry, because as Sansa’s experience had taught her when her Father decided on a match for one of his daughter’s, nothing would dissuade him.

Arya’s face twisted into a frown.

“How does your marriage impact whether or not I have to marry anyone?” She grumbled.

“Firstly it’s not a question of if you have to marry someone, it’s a question of when and who” Sansa replied primly, her sisters face darkening even more at that. She softened her tone. “My marriage’s success or failure could determine the quality of suitors you receive. You are the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the North, which helps but you don’t want to end up married to some idiot who is only using you to gain Father’s favour. The more successful I am the more help I can be in ensuring that you get to choose your husband rather than having one chosen for you” Sansa explained quietly, with a slightly bitter twist to her lips.

“Arya, if I were you I would have a long think about who I want to marry, who my best case scenario his so that when the time comes you will have names to give father, names of men who would not be distasteful to you” Sansa finished. They sat in silence together, mulling over the words that had been spoken until they were called for the midday meal.

Lysa rode at the head of the party from the Vale, her childhood companion Petyr by her side. They were approaching the castle where they had met, Riverrun. She was nervous, to see her father again, to introduce him to her son. She had not laid eyes on the Lord of Riverrun since he married her off in shame. Now her husband was dead and her former lover the Master of Coin to a boy king. Lysa wondered what her father would make of the man who was once, good enough to eat at his table, but not good enough to marry his daughter.

As they came over the final hill she noticed that they were not the only guest of Riverrun. Before them waving in the wind over a small campsite, on the banks of the Red Fork was a spear-pierced sun. The sigil of House Martell, Lysa supposed they were making camp on their way to Winterfell for the marriage. They rode past them, Lysa ignoring the stare she received from the Dornishmen. Her stomach tensed as the gates opened. _This is it._

She climbed down of her horse and left Petyr in charge of the party while she went to help Robert out of the wheelhouse. He seemed calmer then he had been earlier, though he remained silent.

“Sweetling, come meet your grandsire” Lysa cajoled, holding his hand while they walked over to where her father, brother and Petyr were waiting, the horses already being taken to the stables by some of Riverrun’s men.

“My Lord’s” Lysa curtseyed, a bland smile on her face, hiding the emotions she felt at seeing Lord Hoster after all this time.

“Lysa, and this must be Robert Arryn. It is lovely to finally meet you, grandson” Hoster declared, crouching down and shaking Robert’s hand. He squirmed slightly, until Hoster released his hand and stood up.

“I have had room’s prepared for your stay, Edmure can show you to them. As I am sure you have noticed the Dornish party has arrived, and you will all presumably be travelling together” Hoster noted. She smiled at her brother, who she had not seen in nearly four years.

“Edmure, come show me to these rooms, and tell me how have you been?” Lysa asked as she steered Edmure and Robin away from Hoster. She assumed that Petyr would follow her, in her escape from her father. She was filled with bitterness, looking at her father. It was almost as painful to look at Edmure, _is that what my child would have looked like? Had he survived the poison his grandfather fed him. Had he survived the poison his mother fed him._ Lysa blamed herself aas much as she blamed her father. She should have known, she had heard the rumours of women in trouble drinking special tea, and yet she stupidly trusted her father.

* * *

Sansa had been watching her mother for an age, debating interrupting her. She watched as her mother performed the duties of the Lady of the castle. Sansa was debating whether or not she should go and talk to her mother. She had been anxious about the betrothal ever since it had been announced and now that it was only two moons away, she was even more nervous.

“Sansa, sweetling. Either come and speak to me or find something else to do.” Her mother’s voice wafted over to her. Sansa blushed slightly, kicking the ground, before slowly walking towards her.

“Now, dear. What is it that you needed?” Catelyn placed her work down delicately.

“I just wanted to talk to you about” Sansa wrung her hands, suddenly feeling guilty. What if her mother thought her stupid, or cowardly? Lady Catelyn had after all married a complete stranger after her original betrothed was violently murdered by the then king. “Quentyn, my betrothed.”

“Ah. Of course dear. Is there anything in particular about Prince Quentyn that you wanted to discuss” Catelyn’s tone of voice was kind, and warm. Sansa debated how to answer before it all came rushing out in a tide of honesty.

“What if he doesn’t like me? What if he thinks I did something to make the King not want me to marry his son? What if he blames me for Aunt Lyanna and _Elia_?” Sansa whispered the name of the dead Dornish princess before continuing. “What if he thinks me stupid? Or vain? What if he is stupid? What if all the Dornish hate me?” She spoke louder, like a snowball rolling down a hill.

“That is a big load of questions, sweetling. I do not think he will blame you for things that happened before your birth, that you had no control over. If they did the Dornish would not have agreed to this match. You are not stupid, just as your sister is not ugly despite what you tell each other. The Dornish are hardly the most adoring of the King’s subjects, they will not think you were the cause of there being no betrothal with the crown prince. I cannot promise that he will be smart, or kind as I have never set eyes on him. I can promise though that if he treats you badly, if your marriage is not as filled with happiness and love as mine, that I will come and rescue you. You will always be protected.” Catelyn vowed.

* * *

Lysa pushed her food around with her fork. She was sitting at the high table in the great hall of Riverrun, sandwiched in between Petyr and Edmure. Her son was eating with his Septa, being too young to attend a feast properly, something she thanked the gods for. Lysa’s Lord Father had always placed such emphasis on the roles of Lords and Ladies, that was why he had never quite approved of Petyr, even before he had discovered there tryst. Lysa looked at the other guests, there were four on the dais, Prince Quentyn, her niece’s betrothed who looked to be in an uncomfortable conversation with Lord Hoster, the heir to Sunspear Arianne who was talking animatedly with her cousin Tyene Sand, who had come up to the table to converse with Arianne, much to the consternation Lysa thought of her father, Prince Oberyn and his Paramour Ellaria Sand.

Lysa was surprised her father had allowed Ellaria to sit at the high table, given her status as a bastard, but she supposed not even Lord Hoster would dare offend the Red Viper of Dorne. They were a beautiful couple, Lysa thought. Made more beautiful by being near each other, Lysa suspected some of their beauty came from how happy they seemed to make each other. Prince Oberyn’s eyes seemed to glitter in the candlelight, and she watched the way the muscles in his arms moved as he shift in his chair. Next to him Ellaria’s hair tumbled down her back, in black silken curves. She had stunning dark skin, which set off the green silk dress she was wearing beautifully.

A cough from beside her drew her attention away from admiring the Dornish couple.

“Yes?” She asked Petyr, turning her attention to her secret betrothed.

“You are staring” he informed her coolly. Petyr didn’t seem unhappy with her staring exactly; though the fact that he had mentioned it made her think it was not something he appreciated. Lysa smiled at him, and decided she would keep her eyes averted from the Dornishmen and women. She loved Petyr after all, and what was a pretty face to the years they had spent together, though kept apart by her marriage.

“How are you enjoying the feast?” Lysa asked, with a wry tone to her voice.

“The venison is delicious, though the cooks at Riverrun have always been skilled” He complimented, tipping his head towards her father, who was steadfastly ignoring them, maintaining his conversation with his future goodgrandson.

“Good, good.” Lysa replied, turning her attention back to her plate. _Oh, how I hate being here,_ Lysa thought to herself. They had barely been in Riverrun for one whole day and already Petyr was beginning to distance himself. It was not like Jon was still alive after all, there was no marriage vows she needed to honour. She was suddenly filled with bitterness. Prince Oberyn loved his paramour openly though she was a bastard, why could Petyr not love her so openly. Lysa loved him even though he came from a less noble house.

Petyr’s hand squeezed hers, where she had rested it on her knee under the table.

“Soon, my love” he murmured into her ear. “Soon we will marry, and rule the Vale together”. Lysa let Petyr’s voice wash reassuringly over her. _Soon,_ Lysa thought, _Soon Petyr and I will marry, and we will be able to finally express our love. Soon we will not have to hide._

Lysa had been avoiding the Dornish party ever since Petyr had caught her staring at the feast nearly a week ago. They would not be staying in Riverrun for much longer, and she could not avoid whilst they were travelling together. Prince Oberyn and Ellaria were laughing as Lysa approached them, and their smiles stayed the same once they had glimpsed her.

“Lady Lysa, we have not had a chance to speak to you since the feast. How are you faring?” Oberyn asked as he swooped into a bow.

“I am well, my prince. How are you and Ellaria enjoying Riverrun?” Lysa replied, joining them in their walk. She very pointedly kept her eyes away from their joined arms.

“The water is beautiful, and the greenery is lovely, though it is a touch cold.” Oberyn mused. “Oberyn is just spoilt from Sunspear and the Water Gardens” Ellaria, jeered, good naturedly. Lysa smiled at Oberyn's exaggerated look of anguish.

“Lover, how could you say I am spoilt? You wound me deeply” Oberyn proclaimed, holding his hand to his heart as if suffering from a mortal wound.

“You will survive, my prince” Ellaria cajoled, though she leaned across and kissed his cheek.

“If you are cold here you will never venture outside once we reach Winterfell” Lysa commented, blushing slightly when Ellaria winked at her, as though they were united in their teasing of the Prince.

“Ah, yes. The fabled North, home of ice and snow and grim men who worship tree's” Oberyn  jibed, wincing slightly when Ellaria hit him in the stomach, though Lysa was sure Prince Oberyn's paramour had not hit that hard. Lysa grinned though; Ellaria and Oberyn seemed to exude happiness. Being around them was like bathing in starlight.

“I would not let Quentyn hear you say that” Ellaria jested, winking at Lysa. Having Ellaria's full attention felt like being warmed by the sun. Lysa deeply to her bones understood why Oberyn had kept her out of all the mothers of his children. Ellaria turned fully to Lysa then and leaned close as if imparting a closely guarded secret.

“Do not tell anyone for he wants it to be a surprise but Quentyn has arranged for a Godswood to be grown near the Water Gardens, for his betrothed. He wants his wife to be happy so desperately, he is worried that because he is a second son and plain that the Lady Sansa will be disappointed, because it is rumoured she could have been betrothed to the crown prince” Ellaria whispered with a conspiratorial wink. _Building her a Godswood, so she would be able to practice her faith in a strange place,_ Lysa thought, at least my niece will have a kind husband. Lysa laughed softly, before returning the conspiratorial wink.

“I think she will like that, her father did the same thing for my sister. Well, he built her a Sept not a Godswood” Lysa amended with a smile.

* * *

 

Ellaria relished the last warm rays of the sun as it began to set. Walking arm in arm with her betrothed along the banks of the Red Fork. She smiled softly remembering the shy smiles and quiet flirtations of Lady Lysa. The Regent of the Vale had just left to go collect her son, but Ellaria had enjoyed spending time with the Lady. The beautiful Lady, all bosom and soft dips and curves. Every part of her body was soft and full and Ellaria _wanted_ her.

“What are you thinking of lover?” Oberyn asked with a knowing grin on his face. Ellaria laughed wickedly

“I am thinking of how we can convince the lovely Lady Regent to accept an invitation into our bed, dear lover” Ellaria murmured, pulling Oberyn’s face down so she could kiss his nose.

“My dear, would you believe that I was thinking the exact same thing?” Oberyn queried; a seductive look in his eyes. Ellaria suspected that whether or not they were successful with the Lady Lysa she would be well satisfied tonight.

* * *

 

Petyr watched with a bitter smile as the Red Viper and his whore attempted to court his betrothed. Lysa had always been stupid, vapid, the complete opposite to her sister. The Lady Catelyn, the real prize. He had loved her since before he could remember. If he had only beaten the cocky son of a whore, Brandon Stark. Alone in the pitiful holdfast of his family he had laughed when he heard of the death of that foul-mouthed braggart. Unfortunately, Eddard Stark had stepped up to take his brother's betrothed and he was left with the shittier sister. Nonetheless, the Lady Lysa could bring him a kingdom, and she was in love with him so Petyr doubted that she would deny him anything.

Still, it wouldn't be smart to encourage any competition for her affections, as horrific as they were. The Vale would not slip through his fingers, not after all the years of suffering under Lady Lysa's affection.

“My Lady, how are you this fine day?” Petyr enquired, glad to see that some little attention from himself still brought colour to her cheeks.

“I am well my Lord, and yourself?” Lysa replied, dipping into a curtsey. Petyr merely nodded at the Dornish couple before clasping Lysa’s elbow and guiding her away, though he noticed to his disappointment a small frown on Lysa’s face as they left though it disappeared quickly.

“Is something the matter, dear one?” Lysa asked, compassion writ clearly across her puffy face. He sighed, realizing he would have to be honest about his emotions.

“I was jealous. That is all my love” Petyr comforted, letting Lysa assume he was jealous over her and not the power he could gain from her. It would not do for the Dornish to snatch her out from under him after he had pandered to her incessant whining, and played the part of the besotted lover for so long. Lysa’s smile softened then into an echo of what had once been a pretty smile.

“There is no need to be jealous, my love. As beautiful as the Dornish Prince is, you should know that I love you, that my loyalty is to you” Lysa said, in an attempt, Petyr thought to reassure him of her devotion. That devotion was not the only thing he saw in her eyes though, as they gleamed with a spark of pride, pride he suspected that she had been able to arouse jealousy in him.

“My Lady, might I have the _pleasure_ of a dance?” Prince Oberyn bowed as he asked, his emphasis on the word pleasure bringing to mind the work of Petyrs girls in Kings Landing more than simple enjoyment of a dance. Tomatoes bloomed on Lysa's face and it was all Petyr could do to keep himself from rolling his eyes. The dim-witted fool could not see that Prince Oberyn was attempting to do what Petyr himself had done over the course of nearly a decade in a few days. Before Lysa had a chance to respond, and no doubt make a fool of herself, he interrupted.

“The Lady and I were enjoying a conversation” Petyr enunciated slowly, again made bitter that he could not look down his nose at people. His height meant he had to rely on his tone to convey his disdain. Lysa looked confused as he used his hand, which rested on her arm to turn her so that their backs were to the Dornish Prince.

“Have you tried the mutton, sweetling?” he queried, hoping his dismissiveness would cause the Dornishman to lose interest. From what he had heard, Prince Oberyn was used to ladies and whores alike falling into his bed. He would surely move onto easier picking's soon enough once he realized Lysa already belonged to someone.

“Petyr, what are you doing?” Lysa frowned, looking at him as though he were an errant page boy.

“Oberyn, I do apologize, I would be honoured to dance with you though now does not seem to be a good time. Come find me later?” Lysa apologized. Petyr had to tamp down his fury at the idea that Lysa thought she had the right to speak for him, to apologize on his behalf as if he had done anything wrong. All he had down was protect his investment, and her honour.

“What do you mean? I am making conversation about the lovely food your father has provided” Petyr answered, keenly aware that the Dornish Prince was still next to them and had in fact been joined by his whore.

“I mean, why are you being so discourteous to the Dornish? My niece is to marry his nephew” Lysa exclaimed, lowering her voice when she noticed that they had garnered quite a bit of attention, the nobles failing to hide their interest. “You are purposely attempting to offend them” Lysa accused, betrayal in her tone.

“My Lady, have no fear. I am quite used to such disdain from those born north of the Dornish Marches, as is my paramour.” Prince Oberyn added acknowledging the bastard whore with a nod. Petyr sighed.

“Prince Oberyn, I am attempting to converse with my childhood friend” Petyr squeezed Lysa's arm when she made noises to interrupt, he turned and addressed her. “Darling, please I am talking”. Petyr turned back to the Dornish Prince.

“Please take your whore and your obvious attempts to seduce the Lady elsewhere” Petyr advised, tilting his head to where he could see Lord Hoster staring down at them. The Prince followed his eyes and frowned, an expression that filled Petyr with relief. He surely would not continue and risk offending the grandsire of his nephews betrothed.

“My Lord” Oberyn replied, his tone frosty. “I would gladly leave your presence were it not for the fact that Lady Lysa is here.” Oberyn growled, affirming the rumours that he was a degenerate madman, his eyes flashing with violence. “Release the Lady's arm”

“My Lady, Lysa are you okay? Are you safe? If there is anything I can do to help you, you only need say the word” Prince Oberyn announced, squeezing Lysa's hand gently. Prince Oberyn's eyes remained glued to Lady Lysa's until she nodded slowly.

“Thank you, my prince for your concern” Lysa answered. “I am okay, Petyr would not hurt me, and we have been through too much together, though I do apologize, Oberyn, Ellaria for his words tonight. He is not usually so cruel. I fear he has had too much to drink and has lost control of his tongue” Lysa apologized, again smiling tightly at him, the way she would Robert when he misbehaved, something that filled Petyrs stomach with bile. “I shall escort him to his rooms” Lysa asserted.

The look on the Princes face was the last straw. It was one of pity mixed with condescension and he had viewed it too many times on the faces of Lo nobleman. Petyr wrenched his hand violently from Lysa's grasp.

“Do not presume to speak for me. I am not a child” he snapped at Lysa, enjoying the way she recoiled from him. He would have to work to make up for this, Petyr knew and yet it felt so good to show how he really felt. He could always blame it on drink as the cunt had suggested. Any eyes that were not already on the spectacle the Dornish prick and Lysa had created turned toward them now. He turned to walk away; perhaps he would have a whore brought discreetly to his rooms, when he felt the tip of a blade at his throat.

“Apologize” Prince Oberyn whispered. “Apologize or I shall make you” the Dornish Prince avowed.   “You have insulted Lady Lysa and _my paramour_ Ellaria, you owe them both an apology and by my blade or your voice they shall get their apologies.” Prince Oberyn ground out, his dagger still at Petyr's throat. “You cannot tell me what to do” Petyr hisses out in reply, all too aware of the pinch of cold steel on his neck.

“I think you will find that I can” Oberyn assured him, his eyes flinty. “You do not speak to Ellaria that way in my hearing and get away with it, Master of Coin or not. You also do not speak to any woman, or manhandle any woman like you just did the Lady Regent of the Vale in my sight without feeling my wrath. Apologize” the Red Viper barked.

“Lady Lysa is mine” Petyr hissed in return. _I have spent to long seducing her, for you to steal her away with your depraved dornish ways,_ Petyr wanted to add, though he held his tongue. Then Prince Oberyn did the worst and most unexpected thing; he threw his head back and let out a mad laugh. It rang off the walls and echoed, Petyr was sure throughout the castle.

“Lady Lysa does not belong to you” Oberyn hissed, his dagger digging into Petyr's neck. He heard a gasp as he felt a trickle of blood drip down his neck. He laughed at Oberyn then, a dark chuckle infused with all the venom he could muster.

“Lady Lysa does; unless you are saying she is yours” Petyr groaned, his head tilting back to avoid the sharp tip of the dagger. Oberyn stilled though as his whore laid her hand on his arm.

“Lady Lysa does not belong to Oberyn. That is not what he was saying, neither does she belong to her father or you or even me. Lady Lysa belongs only to herself, as all people do.” Ellaria hissed her eyes full of riotous fury.

“I will fight for her” Petyr declared, his eyes on Oberyn, ignoring both Ellaria’s speech and Lysa's mutterings to calm down.

“Is that a threat?” Oberyn accused, mirth in is voice. As though he did not think Petyr capable of making a threat or carrying one out. As though he could not believe Petyr was brave or skilled enough. He was, he had learnt much since his disastrous duel with Brandon Stark all those years ago.

“Yes. Tomorrow we will duel” Petyr announced, not noticing Lysa's hand grip tighter before dropping away. Nobody in the room spoke, though he was proud to see the shock in the Dornish Prince's eyes. He watched the Red Viper compose himself.

“Tomorrow then, when the sun is at its highest. To first or third blood” Oberyn questioned, smiling down at his whore. He seemed relieved, and confident. Too confident.

“Tomorrow, when the sun is at its peak” Petyr agreed, waiting a moment to draw out the tension “Not to first or third blood though. To the death”.

Petyr grinned when he heard people’s cups dropping to the floor, the sound of shattering ceramics all he heard as he walked out of the room. He had much to do and not much time to do it.

* * *

 

“What on earth were you thinking?” Lysa exploded the door to Petyrs rooms slamming shut behind her. She was vibrating with rage and terror. Watching as Petyr calmly dressed himself as though this was a time to be calm.

“Never mind. I have talked to Oberyn, he would be happy to change the duel to first blood, if I cannot talk sense into you and have you stop this madness” Lysa seethed, Petyr's tranquillity only serving to anger her more, though she noticed with a bitter grin that her mention of his competitor seemed to grab his attention.

“Lysa, there is no need to worry. I have arranged things. I will live, I promise you that. You can go tell the Red Viper that the duel is still to the death.” He patted her hand as he walked toward his chest of drawers to pick up some papers. Lysa could scream at how blasé he was being toward the situation. “What do you mean you have arranged things Petyr. You know his reputation as well as I and you are doing paperwork?!” Lysa cried out, frustration and fear threatening to cause her to lose all restraint.

“Lysa. I have a plan” Petyr disclosed, evidently believing that she would simply nod and leave him be. He did not seem to have a good understanding of the situation.

“A plan!” Lysa shrieked. “You have a plan? To deal with the Red Viper who you will be duelling in less than three hours’ time?! Are you mad, surely you have heard the stories of his skill? I love you Petyr, you know I do. Have I not proved so time and time again?” Lysa declared, throwing her hands in the air. “But Petyr, you know as well as I do that your skills at the arts of battle have not increased since you met Brandon Stark on the field all those years ago” Lysa said gently. She did not want to be cruel but neither did she want to see Petyr die, which is what, would almost certainly happen if the duel went ahead. Petyr slammed his hand on the table, seeming like he finally understood what was happening. He turned to her and smiled sweetly, though she did not like the condescending look in his eyes. A look that if she were honest was turned towards her more and more in recent years.

“Lysa, sweetling. Do not fret, I have employed a local girl, in exchange for employment in the Red Keep, she is going to seduce the Prince. The girl will slip his something this morning, whilst she is seducing him that will make him drowsy. His experience and knowledge are negligible if he cannot even raise his spear” Petyr cooed, kissing the top of her head, unmoved by the horror that was filling Lysa, and that was surely expressed on her face.

“Petyr, you know my opinion on pointless honour, but this is wrong. He did not challenge you to a fight, and he has been more than willing to cancel it or too reduce the severity. How could you?” Lysa cried. There was condescension on Petyr's face when he looked t her, and a small amount of pity. Lysa may never have had the skills for business that Petyr did but she was not stupid. Horror washed over her and it was all she could do to keep standing.

“Did you plan this? Petyr! Did you plan this? Gods, is this an attempt at legal murder?” Lysa's voice lowered to a whisper as she stumbled to a chair _. This is the man I love_ ; Lysa thought to herself _, this is the only man who has ever loved me._

“Do not be so dramatic” Petyr said dryly.

“Dramatic! Dramatic?! You dare to dismiss me as some hysterical female with no understanding of the word! You have arranged the _murder_ of an innocent man out of petty jealousy. You are trying to kill a man in cold blood for no reason.” Lysa exploded her anger and confusion seeping into every word she spoke.

“Calm down. My reasons for doing this are my own. It should not be a surprise to you that I am able to arrange a timely death after all. This event will pass and we will watch your niece married, before we ourselves are married. Lysa we will have the happiness we have dreamed of.” Petyr described, an ideal world though Lysa felt sick at the thought. Prince Oberyn and Ellaria had been nothing but kind to her. Their flirtations were harmless; she had never felt unsafe with them. Not the way she was feeling now. _I have dedicated my life to this man,_ Lysa thought to herself with a horrified gasp. _He helped me kill my husband, in order to protect me._ Lysa could not breathe. _I have to warn Oberyn,_ she thought.

 _I have to warn Oberyn, but if I do Petyr will betray me and tell everyone that I killed Jon._ A choked sob left her body as Lysa faintly realized that she was shaking. _What do I do, what do I do?_ She asked herself, feeling both freezing cold and as though she was standing next to a furnace. Black spots began to appear in the corners of her eyes as she attempted to drink in air. _Oberyn, Petyr, Jon_ the name of the man she killed, her accomplice and the man whose life relied upon her risking her own and telling the truth, echoed in her brain. Lysa thought she was hallucinating voices till she realized that she was muttering the names aloud.

_Oberyn._

_Petyr._

_Jon._

The blackspots grew and grew until she could barely see the room around her.

_Oberyn._

_Petyr._

_Jon._

* * *

 

Lysa awoke in a panic, sitting up so fast her head spun. It took a moment for her to fully understand where she was before she threw the sheets of the bed, and jumped out of it, stumbling as she made her way to the looking glass. Lysa was relieved to see that she appeared to still be dressed in the clothes she had put on this morning and by the look of the sun streaming through the window it was not yet midday.

Lysa raced out of Petyrs rooms, briefly wondering how he had managed to get her into the bed, before dismissing the thought. If she were quick enough she could stop the duel and if she were smart enough she could do it in a way that wouldn't implicate Petyr. Her stomach dropped as she arrived at the training grounds were the duel would take place. People lined the arena, and she could see Oberyn standing with his paramour, a squire she did not recognize sharpening his blade.

On the other side of the field, Petyr as standing alone, with a set of throwing knives next to him and a smug  smile on his face. A sick feeling began to sprout in her stomach as she tried to make her way to Oberyn to warn him. Lysa reached the barrier of the arena and leaned over to yell out to Oberyn, when a hand clasped her arm and her father drew her back.

“It is too late.” Lord Hoster said. The guilt in her stomach began to suffocate her.

* * *

 

Petyr stood facing Oberyn, the sun beating down on him. Prince Oberyn was wearing the traditional dornish armour. Petyr himself was wearing minimal armour, chain mail covering his chest to protect him on the off chance Oberyn got close to him before the sedative took effect. He thought back to the night before when he approached the serving girl, Ana or Ama or some common name like that. She had been unwilling to cooperate until he mentioned his position as Master of Coin and that he could arrange work for her in King's Landing, work where she would have the potential to rise through the ranks. He still had not decided whether he would give her the work she assumed, as a servant of some kind in the Red Keep or whether he would send her to one of his whorehouses.

Lord Hoster stood, Lysa by his side. Petyr frowned seeing his one-time lover there, he had hoped that she would still be unconscious from her hysteric's induced fainting spell, but fortunately her arrival was too late to do or say anything.

“Everyone clear the arena, Prince Oberyn, Lord Petyr please choose your preferred weapon and enter the field.” Lord Hoster's voice boomed out. Petyr took stock of his daggers and put two in his belt, another two he rested on the inside edge of the field in case he lost the ones he was carrying. Petyr picked up his favourite dagger with the stag bone handle and stepped into the field. He eyed the Dornishmans spear, a beautiful weapon and wondered briefly if he could claim it as spoils of war. Probably not, he would have to content himself with the Vale, which would be assuredly his once Prince Oberyn died.

_Jab._

_Thrust._

_Spin._

_Duck._

_Throw._

_Roll._

_Duck._

 

 

Petyr was starting to regret agreeing to schedule the fight in the middle of the day. Prince Oberyn no doubt had an advantage coming from the heat of the far south. He was beginning to become frustrated with how long it was taking for the sedative to kick in. Surely Prince Oberyn would begin to fade soon.

_Roll._

_Throw._

_Duck._

_Roll._

_Jump._

_Spin._

_Duck._

_Fall._

_Throw._

_Duck._

 

Sweat dripped down Petyr's back as he picked up one of his spare daggers from the grass, rolling away to avoid the spear heading his way. Petyr grinned when he noticed Oberyn's arm drooping at the end of his swing. _Finally,_ Petyr thought, as he rolled out of the way of the blade. Petyr leapt backwards, creating space between him and the prince, using the distraction to throw one of his daggers at Prince Oberyns face. Oberyn ducked to the side, Petyr was disapointed he had missed but glad to see the Prince seemed shaky when he dived. Petyr saw a glint of light out of the corner of his eyes and wondered why a firefly would be visible in the daylight.

Lysa was silent as she watched Petyrs head bounce across the grass. She supposed she ought to be grateful it was quick and that he didn't seem to have seen it coming. In truth though Lysa could not feel much of anything. She barely registered the sounds coming from around her. Lysa could not quite believe what had happened. She had seen her share of deaths, but the sight of Petyr's head _bouncing_ across the ground had brought her short. It was not unexpected but still she was shocked. As unlikely as it would have been there was a small part of her which had not wavered in its certainty of Petyrs abilities.

A hand squeezed her arm, in an attempt to pull Lysa out of her reverie but it only served to destroy the calm waters she had been basking in. Lysa gasped, her palm pressing up against her breastbone. She was filled with anguish. Guilt, anger and pain swirling within her like a cyclone. Tears were dripping down her face and in the distance she heard sobbing. Lysa wondered who but her would weep for Petyr's death as she felt herself being slowly manoeuvred around. There was so much noise around her and she could not see, blinded as she was by her tears. It was only as she entered Riverrun that she realized she was being led to her rooms.

Lysa wondered who would be sent to treat the hysterical woman. _Gods please don't let Robert have seen that,_ Lysa thought to herself, suddenly panicked. She did not know what would be worse, her son seeing such a violent death or him seeing his mother so distressed. Lysa was woken from her reverie when she heard the door close behind her although she did not hear the lock click. _Small mercies,_ she thought to herself. Standing in her room she was suddenly hit with nausea and ran to the chamber pot, emptying the small amount of breakfast she had eaten and what felt like a litre of bile. Leaning back she decided she would give herself a night to mourn before returning to her duties as Lady of the Vale. It would be good to be able to distract herself from her overwhelming grief.

* * *

 

Winterfell loomed large in the skyline. The Northern fortress intimidating even to someone who had lived in Kings Landing. The hills around were capped in snow, and the bitter cold made Lysa glad she had insisted on Robert being in a litter even as she rode. Lysa was surrounded by Knights of the Vale, the Arryn crest carried by the same Knights who had served her husband. They travelled side by side with the men from the Riverland’s, a small group who were accompanying Edmure. In front of them were the Martell's. The spear-pierced sun waving, the colours beautiful in contrast to the icy colours of the North. Among that number were Prince Quentyn who would make a Princess of her niece and Prince Oberyn the man who had killed her lover. She still did not know how Petyr's plan had failed

Lysa could not blame Oberyn for his actions; he did not instigate the duel after all. Still, when she saw him all she could think of was Petyr's _head bouncing_ on the grass. The castle grew nearer, seeming like a beacon in the sprawling tundra. The Martell's began to slow and Lysa pulled on the reigns of her horse. They continued at this new pace for nearly an hour until they finally reached the gates of Winterfell. The bridge over the moat was down, so they rode straight through into the courtyard. There was some confusion as horses were put away and people exited litters, but soon all the guests were assembled ready to meet the hosts who had been waiting.

Catelyn smiled sadly at Lysa and she returned the sentiment with a nod. They must have heard of Petyr's demise. Robert stood next to her holding her hand tightly, eyeing the children opposite him. Finally her good brother stepped forward.

“Welcome to Winterfell” Eddard said. “I am Lord Eddard Stark, this is my wife Lady Catelyn Stark and our children” he gestured to the line of children next to Catelyn. Oberyn bowed before replying.

“Thank you for your welcome to your home. I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, this is my Paramour Ellaria Sand, and this is Prince Quentyn, your daughters betrothed” Prince Oberyn declared, ignoring the uncomfortable smiles than graced Catelyn and Eddard’s faces upon being formally introduced to a bastard. Prince Quentyn stepped forward.

“My Lord, My Lady. I am honoured to make your acquaintance. Your castle is beautiful” Quentyn hummed, keeping his eyes on his hosts face though Lysa thought it must be tempting to look for his betrothed. Catelyn’s smile became less forced.

“My Prince, it is we who are honoured with your presence. I hope you will enjoy your stay in the North” Catelyn demurred. Quentyn startled slightly when Catelyn curtseyed though he covered well and kissed her hand when it was offered.

Lysa watched absentmindedly as the Martells and the Starks were introduced, smiling when she saw the blush on Quentyn’s face as he was introduced to his betrothed. Sansa was a beautiful girl with the same fine bone structure that Lysa remembered her mother having. She also had the pouty lips of Lyanna Stark. A wry grin crossed her face as Lysa imagined just how devoted Quentyn would become to his future wife.

There was slight tension as Arya Stark was introduced, her resemblance to the late Lyanna Stark far more obvious. Once the Martells had been introduced Catelyn immediately took up her hosting duties and escorted them to their rooms, Lady Sansa joining her to the obvious pleasure of Quentyn.

Edmure then stepped forward and introduced himself to his nephews and nieces, gesturing for Lysa to step forward and do the same.

* * *

 

Robert had been settled into his room in Winterfell. Lysa had been worried that the cold weather would cause his sickness to play up but so far the inside of the castle was warmer than the Eyrie, something she was incredibly grateful for. Lysa as sitting with her sister in the great hall of the main keep, watching Quentyn and Sansa dance. Quentyn was stumbling slightly but whatever he was saying to Sansa clearly made up for any deficits in his dance skills. Lysa was glad to see that her niece seemed to be getting along with her betrothed, their marriage having a better start than Lysa's own. There had been tension between Lysa and her sister since she arrived in Winterfell, mainly because Lysa did not blame Oberyn for Petyr's death, and had counselled against any sort of retribution. Catelyn also seemed uncomfortable with Ellaria's presence on the dais although Lysa thought that was less to do with the Dornishwoman herself, and more to do with her youngest daughter Lady Arya arguing that if Ellaria could sit on the high table when she was a bastard then Jon could too.

As she swirled lemon water around her cup Lysa became aware of a shadow standing over her. She looked up and met the eyes of Prince Oberyn. His face had a kind smile on it though his eyes betrayed nerves. Lysa smiled back sadly. They had not spoken since before Petyr's death, while she didn't blame him it was hard to work up the will to approach him and he had not made any attempt to contact her, something she was glad off.

“My Lady, may I have the next dance” Oberyn asked softly. Lysa could feel the eyes of her sister locked onto her. She swallowed before replying.

“Yes, my prince” Lysa murmured back, rising and accepting his hand as he lead her onto the dance floor. He placed a hand on her waist and they began dancing. It was a simple dance, they were silent as the music picked up and they began spinning. There were so many questions Lysa wanted to ask him. How he had survived the fight, why he was dancing with her now, why he and Ellaria had flirted with her in Riverrun. Lysa thought about asking, but she could not bring herself to break the silence and so they danced.

Oberyn spun her around, always meeting her eyes. Lysa had not danced in many years, the one man she wanted to dance with could not for fear of her husband, and so she did not dance with anybody. The music slowed down and still they danced. Petyr's death weighed upon her, the missed opportunities because he was to lowborn and she too highborn. Because he was too ambitious and running away together had never appealed. Lysa did not know what Oberyn was thinking about though his face was a serious as she had ever seen it. A tear slipped down her face, and Oberyn frowned slightly, and made to stop dancing. Lysa did not let him though, squeezing his arm before continuing to dance. The music sped up and they danced faster, the tears falling in time with the rhythm of the music, and still they danced.

* * *

 

The day of the wedding had finally arrived. Lysa had had breakfast with Sansa, Catelyn, Ellaria and the Northern ladies. The bride-to-be had been nervous and excited, something that had made Lysa smile. She was standing in the small Sept on the bride's side, with her sister and brother. Quentyn and Sansa had decided to have two ceremonies, the first in the Sept where Quentyn would lay his cloak on Sansa's shoulders and the second in the Godswood.

Quentyn stood in front of the alter to the father looking terrified and thrilled. Oberyn was standing of to the right with Ellaria. Even with all that had happened they were still the most beautiful couple Lysa had ever laid her eyes upon. The harpist began to play and Lysa squeezed Catelyn’s hand and offered her a handkerchief. Sansa was beautiful, the dress she was wearing was incredible intricate and in the most beautiful river blue silk Lysa had ever seen. Her cloak was thick white fur, the direwolf embroidered on the back almost an exact replica for the direwolf she had claimed as her own.

The ceremony was short with Cletus Yronwood passing Quentyn the Martell cloak. When Sansa's shoulders were bare for a moment Lysa glimpsed the back of the dress. It was stunning, with see through lace down over half of her back. Nearly the entire Sept heard Quentyn Martell swallowing at the sight. Once the ceremony was over they all moved slowly out to the godswood. Lysa smiled when she saw Robert with his Cousin Brandon talking quietly in the back. They were being supervised by Jon Snow, who had seemed slightly apprehensive but had enough experience with children that Lysa was not worried. She had heard rumours about him planning on joining the Night's Watch, and whilst it would secure her nephew’s inheritance the thought of a child in that place filled with criminals was enough to make her skin crawl.

The Godswood was cold and Lysa was glad she had thought to bring furs with her. This time though both Quentyn and Sansa began the ceremony where they would end it. They stood in front of the heart-tree. Lysa had never seen an Old Gods ceremony, all she knew was that unlike the faith of the seven there were no Septon’s or anyone similar. The person who officiated the ceremony could be anyone, in this case it was Robb, although she had been told that under other circumstances an uncle, aunt or grandparent would be preferable

There was complete silence in the Godswood, with the exception of the rustling leaves. Sansa stood opposite Quentyn her hand in her direwolves fur. Prince Quentyn had been nervous around Lady, as had they all when they met the direwolves, but Lady was the best behaved and he seemed fond of his betrothed's pet.

“Who comes before the Old Gods to marry” Robb's voice echoed in the silence.

“Sansa of the House Stark”

“Quentyn of the House Nymeros Martell”

“Who brings these people to be joined in matrimony before the Old Gods” Robb asked.

“I, Eddard bring my daughter, Sansa”

“I, Oberyn bring my nephew, Quentyn”

“Do you, Sansa of the house Stark take this man as your husband from now until you no longer walk the earth” Robb intoned.

“I do” Sansa smiled, causing Quentyn to blush.

“Do you, Sansa of the house Stark agree to join this man's family, to be as wife to him, daughter to his parents, and sister to his siblings” Robb asked.

“I do” Sansa proclaimed. Robb grinned at his sister, his smile only being outshone by Quentyn’s.

“Do you, Quentyn of the house Nymeros Martell take this woman as your wife from now until you no longer walk the earth” Robb questioned, his eyes intent.

“I do” Quentyn promised.

“Do you, Quentyn of the house Nymeros Martell agree to take this woman into your family, to have her be as wife to you, daughter to your parents, and sister to your siblings” Robb asked.

“I do” Quentyn avowed.

“Does anyone object to this joining of souls, to this joining of family’s” Robb inquired, though Lysa thought anyone who thought to object would be taken down by a direwolf before they could finish their thought.

The feast after the wedding was grand, with Martell and Stark flags hanging from all over the ceiling of the great hall. There were minstrels from the North and the South. Stuffed snakes from Dorne and roasted Reindeer from beyond the wall. Every second dish had lemon in it and the wine and ale flowed freely. Lysa had overheard Dornishmen and Northmen alike in raptures over the food. She herself had enjoyed many new dishes, with the snakes being her favourite. Try as she might however she could not distract herself completely. Every time she turned around she seemed to see Oberyn and Ellaria, dancing or giggling quietly to each other in a corner, or one memorable time she saw them kissing passionately behind a curtain.

Finally Lysa got tired of simply watching and nervously made her way over to them. She had to know how Oberyn had survived, had to tell him that she had tried to warn him though it ended up being unnessacary.

“My Lord, My lady, might I join you” Lysa murmured, her back as stiff as the Iron Throne.

“Lady Lysa” Oberyn replied sharing a look she could not decipher with Ellaria. He stood, bowing and kissed her hand before offering her his seat and grabbing a new one for himself. She sat down, her twisting her hands.

“I am sorry -”

“How are you enjoying -”

Lysa and Ellaria both spoke. Lysa grimaced slightly before gesturing to Ellaria to continue. Ellaria's face was confused and unhappy but she acquiesced.

“I was going to ask about how you are enjoying the wedding, but Lysa, why are you sorry” Ellaria inquired, her face soft and full of worry. Lysa squeezed her eyes shut, she had hoped that by having Ellaria speak first she would gain some respite in her duty, though that was not to be. Oberyn brought a chair over to their table and sat down. Lysa squared her shoulders, if she were going to do this it may as well be with Oberyn there.

“I am sorry for Petyr's behaviour, for him declaring a duel because of me. I am sorry that Oberyn's life was in danger. I do not know how it failed but Petyr had a plan to incapacitate Oberyn, and for that too I am sorry. I only discovered it a few hours before the duel was to take place and I panicked and collapsed. When I came too it was too late to stop the duel and I am sorry for that as well” Lysa rushed out, her hands squeezing her thigh's to stop them from shaking. There was shock on Oberyn and Ellaria's face but try as she might she could not find the expected condemnation. They shared a look before Ellaria replied.

“You know that was not your fault don’t you. Petyr's actions were not your own and you are no more responsible for them than I am. He may have declared the duel because of jealousy, because he saw Oberyn as a threat for your affections, but that does not make it your responsibility” Ellaria murmured leaning across to squeeze her hand. Ellaria gave Oberyn a pointed look then.

“As to how I survived. Your Lord Petyr does not, did not give much thought to the wants of his patsy. He was Master of Coin and when Ana tried to say no he made it obvious he would not accept such an answer. She came to me with the potion and told me what she had been tasked to do. His plan was not your fault, though I am touched that you would think to try and warn me” Oberyn said kissing her hand. His explanation was logical and Petyr, for all his sensitivities over being lower born than she had never treated those below him with any less contempt than the Queen herself, though  he made use of them in a way that no highborn would ever lower themselves to do. Lysa leaned back in her chair as she eyed the Dornish pair.

 _In another life perhaps,_ she thought to herself.

* * *

 

It had been just over one year since her nieces wedding and Westeros was an almost entirely different place. The Lady Margaery Tyrell was betrothed Joffrey Baratheon though there were rumours that she had travelled to Kings Landing with the intention of marrying then King Robert Baratheon. Since the late Robert Baratheon’s death his brother had declared war on the Lannister’s though his unsuccessful attack on Kings Landing had left him licking his wounds on Dragonstone. He also had sent letters out to all the Lords, high and low of Westeros claiming that the Queen had cuckolded his brother with her brother. Privately Lysa thought that it was likely he had been telling the truth, though she did not wish to risk the Vale's troops to put a man she disliked on the throne.

Lysa had also heard troubling rumours from across the narrow sea, about dragons flying over Slavers bay. If that were true it would mean that Daenerys Targaryen was a much bigger threat to the stability of the country than Stannis Baratheon, and should she decide to conquer Westeros as her ancestor Aegon had she would have very little difficulty. That was especially true when you considered that the people who had had the most success fighting the dragons were likely to be her most formidable allies, marriage between Prince Trystane and Princess Myrcella notwithstanding. If anyone had any reliable information in would be the Kingdom closest to the free cities, Dorne. Lysa only knew two people in Dorne well enough to trust them.

* * *

 

_Dear Prince Oberyn and Ellaria Sand,_

_I am writing to you more than a year after we last spoke to invite you to the Vale, to the Eyrie. My niece is said to be excelling in her new life in Dorne, and the alliance between the North and Dorne has done nothing but wonders for both Kingdoms._

_Unfortunately not all of Westeros has so flourished since their wedding and with unsettling rumours from the East it is my duty to secure the Vale._

_With Respect,_

_Lady Lysa Arryn, Lady Regent of the Vale_

* * *

 

_Dear Lady Lysa of the House Arryn,_

_Ellaria and I received your letter with surprise and excitement. We would be honoured to journey to the Vale, and to help grow the bonds of our Kingdoms. Your niece is indeed excelling. She is a wonderful Princess of Dorne, all of Dorne loves her though none so much as her husband. Quentyn is smitten and rightly so, she will be a brilliant advisor to Princess Arianne when she inherits Dorne._

_Indeed Dorne has flourished with our new alliance, and our Northern allies are much valued._

_I understand your duty and I hope that we will be able to relieve you of your worries._

_Under the Light of the Seven,_

_Prince Oberyn of the House Martell_

* * *

 

Lysa sat nervously in her solar. She had received word from the Gates of the Moon that a small Dornish Party were on their way. She had put on her favourite dress and done her hair up nicely. From the window of the solar she could see the beginning of the path. In the morning she had noticed a group who she assumed included the two people she could not stop thinking about.

Just as she was beginning to think they had gotten somehow lost on the path, there was a knock at the door. Mya Stone opened it with a small smile, the bastard of King Robert standing awkwardly in the doorway. She had been anxious since she heard of the impending visit from the Dornish, worried that they would hold her somehow responsible for her father's actions, her looks making it inevitability that they would recognize her heritage.

“The Martell's have arrived, my lady” Mya murmured, twisting her hands. “They're in the entrance hall” she added after a moment’s silence.

“Thank you Mya, sweetling. I will go speak with them, you are free to do whatever you wish” Lysa worried that the end of her sentence came out cruel, but she wanted Mya to know that if she were uncomfortable near the Martell's Lysa understood.

She walked calmly to the Entrance hall of the Eyrie. As she arrived she was glad to see her steward had set them up with bread and salt. Prince Oberyn and Ellaria looked much the same as she had seen them last, though Oberyn had some grey in his hair that she did not remember. They were accompanied by twelve guards, two of whom wore the yellow and crimson fire of the Uller's, the rest with the Martell sun and spear. They both rose when she entered the room, their beauty enough to take Lysa's breath away.

She curtseyed to them as Oberyn bowed to her.

“My Lady, you are looking well” Oberyn greeted, his lips lingering on her hand. When he let her hand drop Ellaria stepped forward and kissed her on both her cheeks, Lysa blushed slightly as she returned the greeting.

“Thank you Oberyn. You and Ellaria are most welcome here in the Eyrie. It cheers me to look upon your faces” Lysa divulged with nervous laughter. She would have been concerned she had overstepped a mark had she not been face with identical looks of desire, causing her blush to deepen. Lysa quickly turned then, calling out behind her.

“If you will follow me I have had rooms made up in the floor above, it is quieter there, and you cannot hear the moon door thumping at night. I did not know how many guards you would bring with you so I had some rooms made up on your floor and this one.” Lysa explained as she showed them to their rooms

Lysa sat at her dresser, her face staring back at her from her looking glass. She was debating applying kohl to her eyes. Lysa was preparing for the evening meal, she had arranged for her, Oberyn and Ellaria to have a private meal, with Robert being supervised by Mya.

Finally she decided and applied a light coating of the paste to the rim of her eyes. Frowning slightly at the creases of her neck, she rose and then with all the grace of a queen left her chambers. As she walked toward the room she had set aside for the evening meal Lysa heard Oberyn and Ellaria's voices drift down the drafty halls of the Eyrie. They quieted when they saw her, Oberyn rising fluidly to pour her a cup of wine from a cask it looked like they had brought with them.

“Worried about the quality of wine I would serve” Lysa jested with a wink as she accepted the cup and sat down.

“Not at all, we merely wanted to share with you the blessings of our realm. The wine comes from a vineyard not two leagues from the Water Gardens” Oberyn declared with a seductive smile.

“Wherever it comes from it is delicious” Lysa declared, swirling the red nectar around her cup. She wasn’t flattering either, the sharp Dornish wine was one of the best she had ever had. Lysa coloured slightly when she saw Ellaria and Oberyn share a filthy smile. Before Oberyn could reply to her attempt at flirtation the door swung open and a servant entered carrying a plate of braised mutton, followed by a plate of stewed vegetables. They remained silent while the food was placed before them. Once they had all served themselves Lysa spoke..

“It is lovely to have you here, but we must address the elephant in the room before we can truly enjoy the night” Lysa began, lips twisting into a smile despite herself at the identical looks of disappointment on their faces. “Daenerys Targaryen, the so called Mother of Dragons. Is it true? Would Dorne support her should she decide that a Targaryen Restoration is the ideal use for her dragons? If she has any and these are not merely sailor’s tales”.

Oberyn and Ellaria had both tensed when she started talking and so she hurried to reassure them, her plans would not work after all if they thought she was threatening them.

“I do not mean to sound so threatening. I agree with most of what I have heard Daenerys is doing anyway, freeing slaves from their bondage, and punishing the men and women who put them in it. It is just I do not wish to be on the opposite side to an army with dragons. I have no ties to the Lannister regime, and would happily ignore any pleas for help from them should she come calling. Daenerys is more likely to look to Dorne for an alliance than the Vale so should she, look to Dorne that is, I would appreciate it if Dorne would pass on the Vale's best wishes to her” Lysa finished, watching as they stared at her in shock. They both rose then and Ellaria turned to Lysa.

“Lysa, my Lady, would you mind if we spoke in private” Ellaria asked though her and Oberyn had moved to a corner of the room before Lysa could reply. They spoke in harried whispers. Lysa began to worry as the minutes ticked by.

Their backs straightened and they turned as one and walked back towards her. Ellaria's face was smiling which cheered Lysa despite the impassiveness on Oberyn's.

“My Lady, Dorne has not been unfaithful to the current regime. Though we all hunger to avenge Elia and her babes. I cannot say for sure whether Dorne has been in contact with the Dragon Queen though if we are in future we would of course counsel her to court as many alliance’s as possible.” Oberyn explained slowly, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Of course, my Prince. The Vale is as always open to new alliances” Lysa murmured, watching as a pleased smile spread across Oberyn's face.

“Now that business has been taken care of my Lady, Oberyn, shall we return to pleasure” Ellaria lilted, her tone flirtatious.

* * *

 

Oberyn awoke, warmer than he had thought possible north of Kings Landing. He smiled as he looked to the women sharing his bed. He had accomplished much in the day he had been in the Vale, Dorne and the Dragon Queen had a new ally and he had a new lover and perhaps in time he would have a new daughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa's wedding gown.  
> http://g03.a.alicdn.com/kf/HTB14aW5JVXXXXXSXpXXq6xXFXXXu/Vestido-Longo-Luxury-CJE107-Cap-Sleeve-Embroidery-Beads-Evening-Dress-2016-Imported-From-China-Evening-Dresses.jpg  
> 
> 
> Link text


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